The Dream Lord and the Detective
by Whispy360
Summary: Sherlock must choose between two worlds - is he a consulting detective catching criminals with his friend John, or a time traveller seeing the universe with the mysterious Doctor? The Dream Lord pressures him to make his choice. One-shot.


It had been a horrible oversight, to assume that he had taken out all of Moriarty's men. However, Sherlock had done fairly well. There was only one left - a man trained as a sniper, a man who was all rough edges and frowns. Sherlock suspected he had smiled before. Judging by how pissed-off he appeared, Sherlock supposed Sebastian Moran had been one of Moriarty's closest friends.

Sherlock _almost _felt some sympathy for the man. Moran had clearly not realized that Moriarty didn't have friends. Moriarty had puppets.

But there wasn't very much room for sympathy. Moran had a gun to John's head. Now was the time for action, punctuated by short bursts of analysis.

Not the time for sleep. But here it came. Back to the dream, which felt so damned real but was damned impossible, too.

Sherlock fell, and the last thing he was aware of was the aching pain of his head as it hit the floor.

—

Sherlock blinked his eyes open. "-John," he choked out.

"Enjoying yourself?" the Dream Lord asked. Sherlock spun around. The Dream Lord, a short, dark-haired, leering sort of man, was leaning against the wall. He appeared far too casual for the situation. "_This _one feels real, wouldn't you agree? Daleks. Cybermen. Time about to collapse. _Imminent _disaster right here. And you're worrying about your John?" The Dream Lord tittered. "My, my… I thought you worried about the _important _things, Mr. Homes. That you didn't let your e-mot-ions get in the way of the case."

Sherlock attempted to narrow his eyes at the Dream Lord, but his fear (fear! How embarrassing) made his voice shake. "But John- Moriarty-" he paused. "This is the dream. Here. Time Lords? A box that's bigger on the inside? Impossible."

"And yet you believe in me, which is just as improbable. A man who controls dreams? Why, that's nearly as improbable as time travel. Admit it, detective - there is a world outside your limited reality. Time travel is possible - your John, your so-called _friend_," -he said the word scathingly- "is nothing but a dream."

There was a yell from around the corner. Sherlock glanced over his shoulder. The Doctor needed his help. "Little busy over here, Sherlock!" Nervous laughter from the Doctor. "Ha- geronimo!"

"He'll die in a minute if you don't help," the Dream Lord said smugly. "And if he dies, you die soon after. Brilliant as your detective skills are, you don't stand a _chance _against the greatest killing machines in the universe."

The detective _did _manage to look scathingly at the Dream Lord this time. "If this world without John is the real one, then it's not a world I wish to live in," he said quietly.

The Dream Lord just laughed. "Fool," he said. Sherlock ignored him.

There was another yell from the Doctor, and Sherlock turned on his heel and strode towards the sound.

The Doctor turned round, bow tie and fez slightly askew. (Early on their adventure, the Doctor had seen the fez in a shop and, for reasons that not even Sherlock's mind could deduce, had become extremely excited and gone up to buy it at once.) "Oh, _now _you show up," the Doctor said. "Help me out here, would you?!"

"What do I do? There's no reasoning with the Daleks _or _the Cybermen. Their objectives are programmed into them. Besides," Sherlock added, "this is the false reality."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I feel pretty real. I wish the Dream Lord wanted to bother me too, so I could see what's so good that I'd die for it." He acquired a faraway expression. "Not that I don't have dreams. _Everybody's _got dreams. And if I could…well." The Doctor smiled. "I doubt you want to hear an old man ramble. Anyway- you say it's hopeless, but there's no harm in trying. It's worked before! Now, get ready. They'll break through in just a minute, but I think we can stop them if we reverse the polarity and trap them in the dimensional matrix. Tricky, but all in a day's work, right?"

Sherlock smiled as well, one side of his mouth slightly crooking upwards. He strode toward the barricaded door.

"Run, Doctor," he said.

"What are you doing?!"

"Run."

"Sherlock, you can't-" There was fear in the Doctor's eyes. He'd had dealings with the Dream Lord before, and could guess at what was about to happen.

Sherlock paused. "I know this isn't something you want. I can tell from your face - you've have friends travel with you before, and so many terrible things have happened to them. Well, I'm sorry, but in the real world I have a friend such as that, too.

"And you, Doctor, you have many friends. You say you're alone, but you're not. You have so many people who you've helped. As for me, I've just got one.

"And I plan to rescue him. I _will not lose him._ So, like I said: run, Doctor." Sherlock started to tug at the pile of objects barricading the door. They fell after a short struggle. One landed on Sherlock's foot.

There was a moment of silence. "You're a good man, Sherlock Holmes," the Doctor said, his voice thick. "And I hope that you're wrong, and that this is like the last time I met the Dream Lord." There was the sound of footsteps.

"Thank you," Sherlock said softly, and opened the door.

_"Ex-TERM-in-ate."_

"Ah. Dull."

—

The Doctor had fought off the Daleks. And the Cybermen. _Again. _So many times, it was almost becoming routine. If only it had only been just him. No one to get in the way, no one to lose.

He'd won, but he'd lost. _Again._

It hadn't been like the last time the Time Lord had met the Dream Lord. One of the realities _had _been true.

The detective was hitching a ride on the TARDIS for the last time. He was on his way back to London, 2010. It would be a small funeral. Lestrade was there, and Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft. And the Doctor, of course, but off in the distance a bit. They'd have their heads bowed, examining their feet. The Doctor could vaguely remember seeing them on that eventful day that he had begun to travel with Sherlock. The army doctor -or the Other Doctor, as the Doctor referred to him in his head- did not attend.

Everyone dreams of their imaginary friends.

((Author's note: I hope you enjoyed! For anyone curious, this was inspired by a gifset on tumblr... so thank you to whoever was the creator of it!))


End file.
